The Power of Staying
"I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away, but baby I just need one good one to stay" Lady GaGa
In light of recent events that shall not be named, my WhatsApp has been blowing up with friends asking (hoping?) if I’m planning to move back to Portugal posthaste. Given my history of leaving places with the ease of someone changing their shoes, (read: If the Shoe Fits Don’t Wear It) it may surprise you to hear that, faced with perhaps the best reason in the world to leave, I now have the most compelling reason to stay.
Ever since I was a teenager, travel has been more than just a pastime—it’s been both an identity and a kind of existential seeking. Growing up lower middle class in a large family where no one ever dreamed of leaving a 30-minute radius of where they were born, I was the odd one out, forever looking toward the horizon. I started working at eleven, and by fourteen, was clocking twenty hours a week. Not for the latest fashion trends or teenage whims, but to fund my journeys to far-off places, always searching for something more.
By nineteen, I’d already ventured to England, Ireland, France, and China. Now, decades and dozens of countries later, I still feel the same pull toward adventure and new horizons. The departures board at the airport will always get my heart racing. But something in this moment is different. Now, as the world shifts in unsettling ways, I find myself compelled to stay—to not pull the ripcord on the American Dream, but to stand for something that feels like it matters.
No one is as shocked as I am. After all I’ve always been willing to point out what I see as America’s many flaws (read: A Letter to My Narcissistic Ex), but this isn’t just about preferences or frustrations. It’s about something deeper, a sense that fundamental human values are at risk. I used to think, “Let them have the country they voted for.” But now I think about all those who didn’t choose this path, who still believe in the possibility of something better.
I realize this could be a bad midlife act of insanity. Maybe I’ve had one too many hot flashes short-circuit the reasoning centers of my brain, but I find myself asking: What does it mean to stay? What does it mean to hold firm in the face of an uncertain future? Perhaps there’s a strength in choosing not to leave, in deciding that I am here, not just as an observer but as a participant in what comes next.
When Russia invaded Ukraine, President Zelensky’s response—“I am here”—was a powerful reminder of the courage to stay and stand firm for what matters. It’s a message that resonates now, as many of us ask ourselves what we can and should do to uphold the values we believe in. If the indifference of those with more privilege to the plight of the “common person” has gotten us to this point in history, then isn’t staying the only way to right that ship? Staying becomes an act of solidarity with those who are holding out for and need a future that aligns with our shared humanity in perhaps the only place they can call home.
Perhaps the most meaningful choices are the ones where we’re asked to invest in a future we may not fully see
And my kids are watching me. They look to me to see what it means to face difficulty. Do I show them that when things get tough, I just pack up and leave? Or do I teach them the strength in staying, in finding that solid place within that says, “I am here, and I’m not going anywhere, no matter how bad it gets”?
Choosing to stay isn’t always glamorous; it doesn’t come with instant rewards. It’s often uncomfortable, requiring us to confront what’s difficult and imperfect. But perhaps the most meaningful choices are the ones where we’re asked to invest in a future we may not fully see—where our actions today plant seeds that might only blossom long after we’re gone. That is on-the-ground work… maybe even underground work… but it’s not dialing it in from afar work.
Staying, then, may turn out to be its own kind of adventure. It won’t be the thrill of exploring foreign streets or the rush of new landscapes, but the journey of standing firm for something beyond ourselves. In a world where it’s so easy to walk away, staying becomes a courageous act of quiet rebellion against hopelessness.
“If not now, when? If not us, who?” These words remind us that the most powerful impact often comes from those willing to hold their ground, to show up and say, “I am here.” And in doing so, we don’t just defend our values—we renew our commitment to the possibilities that still lie within them.
As I look around at the uncertainties and the fears that make moving away seem so tempting, I’m reminded that perhaps the truest strength is in the power of staying. Not because it’s easy, but because it matters.
This resonated with me today, following a conversation my husband and I had about whether we should think about leaving.
So powerful. I loved reading this as I am feeling like I have one foot in the US and one in Costa Rica. Surely, this election has seemed to make it an easier decision to move, but at the same time, I feel like a deserter, and that doesn't feel good either. But your words ring true and fill my heart with hope that people like you are in the country.